


orders

by gingergenower



Series: the garrison [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, I wanna know how Constance became the most respected Musketeer, but i will, i didn't figure it out with this fic, post 2x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:03:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7651048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingergenower/pseuds/gingergenower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly married, Constance and d'Artagnan try to figure out their boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	orders

**Author's Note:**

> post 2x10 fic idea I had

Aramis wouldn’t fight.

The three of them came back with the news a day and a night after they left for him. He wouldn’t be swayed, nothing they said changed his mind- he was a servant of God and nothing more. Athos told Constance on her appearance at the doors to her and d’Artagnan’s quarters, the nearest musketeer to her.

Gritting his teeth, Porthos spat on the ground and whipped his weapons belt aside. D’Artagnan’s head bowed, lips pressed together, unable to say a word.

Constance blinked. A blow to the stomach would be more forgiving. Their wedding day was three days gone, and in another three he left for war, and she’d thought he’d at least have his brothers at his elbows. Two of them didn’t seem enough to her, somehow.

“Treville knows,” d’Artagnan told her, his voice hoarse. 

Reaching out to him, she took his hand and pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

He accepted her embrace, breathing her in. Too soon for her liking, he pulled back, straightening his shirt. “I need to go, Athos needs us.”

Porthos and Athos marched up the stairs, and d’Artagnan slipped out of her fingers to hurry after them. She watched him go, swallowing, but he didn’t look back.

Taking a moment to compose herself, she took a step back into their quarters, but stuttered over the second. She could only stay in there so long. She’d run the house as a Bonacieux but the garrison ran on other people, there was no neat job or place for her. 

Walking into the courtyard, Constance spied a cadet brushing his horse in the stables. She walked over, the only other person she saw around.

“Madame d’Artagnan,” he said, nodding his head at her.

The name quite flew over her head, but the sandy-haired boy smiled until she returned it, scratching her neck. “We haven’t had the pleasure of an introduction, I don’t think.”

“My name is Brujon,” he said. “I am a cadet.”

“How did you know my name, Brujon?”

Patting the horse’s neck, he grinned. “You married d’Artagnan only a few days ago. Musketeer weddings are something to talk about.”

“I suppose,” she said, leaning against the wall, arms folded. “But you haven’t been here long, have you?”

“A week, madame.”

She smiled, even if it was forced. “Well, you will know more about this place than I do. What have you learned?”

“To keep out of the way of the musketeers,” Brujon said, grinning. “I haven’t been introduced to them either, yet.”

At that, Constance frowned. “How did you earn your place here if you haven’t met the musketeers?”

“Treville used to know my father, so my father wrote.” Pausing for a moment, he looked up at her and stood up a little straighter. “But I earned my place here.”

“Treville wouldn’t give you a place if you hadn’t earned it,” she said, and he relaxed. “And the musketeers usually attract trouble, so having distance between you and them can be no bad thing.”

“You married a musketeer,” he said, frowning.

“Yes, and I’m a fool. Learn from my mistakes.”

Brujon laughed, and the doors to the captain’s rooms flew open. D’Artagnan hurried out with Athos. The latter walked past Brujon and Constance, readying their horses, but d’Artagnan took Constance’s hand and drew her a few steps from Brujon.

“We have to go,” he said, kissing her hand. “I need you to stay here, in the garrison.”

Constance didn’t say anything, and nodded. 

“I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“I love you.”

He kissed her. “I love you too.”

“D’Artagnan?” Athos was seated, another horse’s reigns in his hands.

Dropping her hands, he hurried away, without another glance at her. Porthos came out not, waving Athos and d’Artagnan to go ahead. They disappeared, the dust behind them unsettled.

“Constance,” Porthos said, thrusting a wax sealed letter into her hands. “This letter needs delivering to Treville, but I need to follow them. Can you take it?”

“I can’t,” she said, thinking of d’Artagnan’s words to her not a minute ago. “I’m needed here.”

“Constance, you’re the only one-”

“I’m not,” she said, turning. “This is Brujon, he’s a cadet. He can go.”

Porthos eyed Brujon, who hurried forward. “Constance-”

She passed the letter to Brujon. “Take this to Treville, at the palace. This is of utmost importance, do you understand? Take it there and return here immediately.”

Brujon nodded, tucking the letter into a pocket and heaving a saddle onto his horse’s back.

Porthos watched him, weary. “Are you sure about this?”

“Treville approved him to be a cadet himself.”

“Constance, why couldn’t you do it?” 

Constance pressed her lips together. “Don’t the musketeers need you?”

Porthos watched Brujon, then shook his head, untying his own horse. “Yes. They do.”

Leaving without another word, but frowning once more at Constance, Porthos turned right outside the garrison to follow after the others. Brujon’s face screwed up in concentration, leaving and turning left.

Constance felt the urge to punch something. She thought that marrying d’Artagnan would mean that she would get sick of the constant company, the noise, the excitement of the garrison. Being a Bonacieux meant boredom and being alone for large stretches of the day, and yet here she was again. Following orders.

She bit her lip, and swallowed her resentment. D’Artagnan loved her in a way Bonacieux never had. It wasn’t the same thing, and besides, she knew that this marriage needed to work in the way that her last hadn’t.

Nonetheless, she wanted to go. She wanted to be useful. The disappointment in Porthos’ eyes wouldn’t do, not if they would all look at her that way.

Sat on the steps, she waited, the time meandering past with all the leisure of the queen taking a stroll around the garden. Constance stared into the arch, and Brujon stormed through it first, and she stood, dusting herself off.

“Well?” she said.

He shrugged. “He didn’t give me an answer. But he read it, and told me to tell Porthos ‘yes’.”

Constance smiled. “He’s usually that cryptic.”

“It’s strange to see him in such grand surroundings. I wouldn’t have known he was a soldier.”

“He suits it,” she said, and he nodded.

“He does.”

Sighing, Constance started towards d’Artagnan’s rooms.

“You can keep me company,” Brujon said, and she paused. “If you want.”

Taking a deep breath, she summoned up a smile and played a card all men accepted. “I’m afraid all this excitement has rather tired me out, I need a rest.”

“Of course,” he said, bowing his head, and she hurried away.

In the rooms, she locked the door behind her. She didn’t want interrupting. Throwing herself onto the bed, she thought of the few days she’d there with d’Artagnan, and how few they had left. Closing her eyes to hold back tears, she curled up and fell asleep.

***

Awoken suddenly, she sat upright at the knocking on the door.

“Constance?”

Shaking herself awake, she opened the door up to Porthos.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you.”

She blinked. “Well, alright.”

“Why couldn’t you take the letter before?”

She opened and closed her mouth.

“I wanted you to take it,” he said, watching her closely, “because I trusted you. Why didn’t you?”

Constance swallowed. “Like I said, I’m needed here.”

“What for?”

Something in his eyes dared her to tell him the truth, and something in the pit of her stomach weighed it down, scrunched up there for safekeeping. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“I want an explanation.”

Leaning forward, she glanced around the corner. Athos and d’Artagnan were deep in conversation with Brujon.

“What are you worried about?” Porthos said, folding his arms and leaning in.

“I’m not worried-”

“Constance.”

She closed her eyes. “D’Artagnan said he needed me here.”

Porthos seemed to wait for her to say something else. “…so?”

“He’s my husband, and he gave me an order.”

Arms dropping, Porthos’ jaw went slack, reeling. “Constance, I don’t think he meant-”

“He told me to stay.”

Speechless, he watched her. Hands balled into fists, eyes averted, she stared ahead.

“…d’Artagnan?”

“No-”

“Yes?”

“Over here, now,” Porthos said.

D’Artagnan came around the corner, and Constance wasn’t sure what Porthos was going to say to him.

“You need to talk to her,” he said.

D’Artagnan frowned. “About…?”

“She’ll tell you why she didn’t deliver a letter for me today.”

Her cheeks were heating up, and Porthos walked away. D’Artagnan turned to her, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at Porthos. “He means well. Go on, tell me.”

She swallowed.

“Hey.” D’Artagnan fingers touched under her chin, guiding her up to look at him. “Constance.”

“I didn’t take the letter for Porthos because you told me to stay in the garrison.”

It was almost as though he didn’t react, but his eyes tightened, shifting his weight. “I don’t follow.”

“You said stay, so I did.”

It was as though he didn’t know her, the way he stared. She had to make him understand.

“In my marriage to Bonacieux, I failed as a wife. I was disobedient, and reckless, and it ruined my marriage, and I didn’t care about that with him but I care with you. You might not have meant it the way I took it, and I’m sorry, but you told me to stay-”

“Constance.”

To her relief, he took her hand, wiping a tear away.

“I understand.” D’Artagnan swallowed. “Constance, I’ve never been married before. I’m sorry I didn’t think of this.”

“It’s not-”

“Just, let me?”

She nodded.

“I didn’t marry to enslave you. I’m not- I don’t _want_ obedience. I want you to be the same _disobedient_ , brave, wonderful woman you were before I married you. And I told you to stay here as in close by, so that when I came back tonight, we could see each other. I want to see you as much as possible before I leave.

“Do you understand?”

She didn’t answer, just threw her arms around him. He held her, her breathing in his ear.

“You just gave me permission to ignore you completely. You know that, don’t you?” she muttered into his shoulder.

“I did not-”

“I’m ignoring you.”

They both grinned, and d’Artagnan closed his eyes. He’d let go when she did.

**Author's Note:**

> pls throw prompts my way if you have any (I prefer stuff I can make work with canon)


End file.
